


Bud Light

by wingstocarryon (hollyrowan)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hunting as a teenager, Hurt Sam Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Sexual Assault, Teenchesters, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:16:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyrowan/pseuds/wingstocarryon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A routine hunt goes wrong when Sam is a teenager.</p><p>*<br/>It happened when he was fifteen, in a derelict motel near India, Ohio. He was still hazy from the venom when they rolled him onto the bed, on a mattress that reeked of cigarettes. The biggest of them had a thick hand on the back of Sam's head, one large thumb on his ear, twisting it. Sam jerked his head away into the mattress, twisted to come up fighting –</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bud Light

It happened when he was fifteen, in a derelict motel near India, Ohio. He was still hazy from the venom when they rolled him onto the bed, on a mattress that reeked of cigarettes. The biggest of them had a thick hand on the back of Sam's head, one large thumb on his ear, twisting it. Sam jerked his head away into the mattress, twisted to come up fighting – 

A knee sank into his back. By the time he could breathe again he was pinned. 

He felt the arm over him pawing down his back, rucking up his shirt. He kicked out, struggled, but they held him down. A prick of pain in his side and everything went heavy and slow again.

 _Click, click, fizz._ The sound of beers being opened, cans clicking. They were drinking beers over him. Bud Light. His dad drank it, sometimes. One of them spilled some and it splashed into his hair. His face was pressed up against someone sitting on the bed, their ass reeking of cigarette smoke and sweat where it made the mattress dip.

Bud Light. Dad’s beer. They were talking over him, laughing. Then the hand came back, playing with the back of his shirt – he tried to jerk away but his body was heavy, what had they done to him? It was the venom, right, he had read about it at the library when they figured out what the Hell these guys were. He remembered the book. The venom made the victims weak, ready to be killed or –

The book hadn’t listed an _or._

There was a hand on his bare back, slipping down, into the waist of his jeans, _what the hell_. The world fuzzed out and he tried to fight but he couldn’t, he couldn’t. An arm snaked around him and pulled at his belt, fingers under his belly undoing the buckle, jerking his pants and boxers down and _this wasn’t happening. He wanted to hide._ Then a hand on his ass, pressing.

_This wasn’t happening, this wasn’t happening._

“Little guy thinks he’s a hunter,” the monster said in his ear.

 

He knew they were here when he heard the gunfire outside.

During the fight Sam rolled off the bed, and by the time Dad and Dean found him he was lying half under it, still woozy from the venom. He’d pulled up his pants, the only thing he could force his unresponsive fingers to do, and buckled his belt. He was okay. He was normal now. Dean hauled him out, propped him up against the wall. “Sammy? Sammy?” The room smelled of gunsmoke and Thick Hands was a carcass Dad was hauling out to the car. They hadn’t seen. “Venom,” he told Dean. Dean fumbled for the antidote, made him drink. It tasted like bicarbonate of soda. Dean’s face was pale, his freckles standing out. Dad was there. Everything was fine. They had to run back to the motel, Dad had to run cleanup. Sam’s body was coming back to him, piece by piece. He could move his legs.

Back at the motel, Dean gripped him by the back of the neck and pressed Sam into his shoulder, his grip iron hard.

“I’m fine, Dean. I’m fine.”

Dean let him go. “Let me see,” he said, turning Sam into the light. “You’re gonna have a shiner.” Sam nodded. Dean checked his eye where it was bloody, then his side, the puncture wound. Dean poured hydrogen peroxide onto it and stuck the bandage on. Sam pulled his shirt down.

Dad had already checked him out: eyes, reflexes. He wasn’t concussed. Rolling under the bed had been smart, giving himself cover.

Dad tossed him a beer. Bud Light. He couldn’t open it.

He wasn’t fine. He was dirty, dirty. Unclean.

 


End file.
